There’s a part of me that has been awakened.
This part of me had been mostly dormant for years, but the older I get, the more I notice my physical self reacting to sights, smells, and sensations in a big, bad way. It’s my sweat glands.
I guess it would have been more accurate to say the salty side of aging rather than the sultry side.
I have also found my vocabulary has dwindled.
There are only so many minutes in the day to speak. It’s hard to find the time to discuss 19th century literature, medieval history, or the pros and cons of using a top sheet when so many of those 1,440 minutes available are used saying the following sentences:
Is it hot in here?
Goddamn, it’s fucking hot in here.
Who turned up the heat?
Aren’t you hot?
I’m burning up.
I think my feet actually caught on fire.
For all that is holy, turn off the space heater. Do you want me to die?
I swear, if we don’t open a window, I’m going to vomit on you.
Holy shit, look at the size of the zit on my chin.
Okay, that last one doesn’t have anything to do with being constantly overheated, but damn.
You should have seen the zit I just had. It had smaller zits orbiting it. I think it may have affected the tides. Just the Atlantic ocean. Not the Pacific. Don’t be silly.
I thought I was finished with my face exploding. I didn’t have acne as a teen, but I made up for it with adult onset acne. It’s been months, maybe a year, since I’ve had a zit. But does that mean I get to be done with it? No. No, apparently I do not.
I also get super cold.
I’ve always been quick to overheat. Cold weather doesn’t bother me a lot and I’m not fond of summer. I mean, if it’s frigidly cold out, I’m just as uncomfortable as the next crabby, sweaty menopausal woman. But I am never chilly indoors.
Until a few years ago.
So, mostly, I am catching on fire.
I am sometimes afraid my face will melt off except for when I’m freezing and no amount of blankets chases away the chill. Even curling up next to Randy doesn’t work and I’m pretty sure Randy’s ass is part furnace. Usually, when we’re in bed, I’m telling him to stay on his side of the bed because I’m fucking hot as shit (yes, you are. Ed.)
But now, there are nights when I’m freezing and cannot get warm. I am tempted to cut Randy open like Luke Skywalker cut open that tauntaun and crawl inside. Because the furnace ass just isn’t enough.
No worries. Randy is in no real danger. Probably.
I also have moments where my entire body goes at war with itself.
I am cold and sweating, which you would think can’t happen, but it absolutely does. I feel overheated and miserable, yet chilly. It’s no fun and the worst is when it happens at night. I have actually taken the covers off and on so rapidly that I cause a draft in the room. Which both feels good and makes me too cold.
I don’t want to be a total downer about aging. Mostly, it’s amazing. I love who I am becoming. I feel better in my head than I ever have.
The bizarre, rapid temperature changes are exhausting, though.
Photo courtesy of Comfreak